


opportunities

by bkreed (orphan_account)



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Titanic AU, human au of course, in which i rewrite a piece of mine from 2012
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-29
Updated: 2015-12-29
Packaged: 2018-05-10 03:26:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5569111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/bkreed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tino set sail on the RMS Titanic. This is his last night on the ship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	opportunities

**Author's Note:**

> hello! so i am definitely not in the hetalia fandom anymore, but i found this piece of mine from 2012 and decided to rewrite it. using real-life, historical events as an idea for an alternate universe must be tread on lightly, but i'm very interested in the titanic, have spent hours over the past four or five years researching it, and i hope to not offend anyone in the making of this story, as it was a real event that killed over 1500 people. thanks!

Tino Väinämöinen was young and poor, two of the most unpleasant words of the early 1900s. The world around him was thriving with elegant ladies and exquisite men, and anyone with a lack of wealth, power, or – essentially, Anglo-Saxon roots – were considered undesirable. Tino, a twenty-year old Finn living away from his parents with an income of the equivalent of roughly eight euros a month, barely made enough to eat properly. He spent any leftover money he had on a ticket to the _Titanic_.

Growing up, his mother would always tell him, “If opportunity doesn’t knock on the door, build a door,” and that was exactly his plan. When he'd told her about the ticket he’d purchased, she'd blinked back tears but nodded into a tight hug.

"Go, Tino."

The promise of America and its opportunities was much better than less than ten euros a month; it was better than Tino serving in the Russian army; it was better than any life Tino could imagine in Finland. So his mother let him go, with the promise of writing.

And that was how Tino found himself sitting in a comfortable (see: claustrophobic), cleanable (see: dirty) room in steerage with three other men (see: queer). He'd caught their names and countries of origin over the last few days, but that was about it. Everybody minded their own business for most of the day, eating in their dining room on F-Deck at the respective time, milling about, and drinking below deck; only to come back past midnight. It was, strangely enough, the first time all four of them were in the room together, awake.

There was Berwald, a towering Swede who didn't talk much; Eduard, an Estonian teenager younger than Tino; and Niels, a sarcastic Norwegian whose favorite pastime seemed to be intently staring at others.

On this particular Sunday night, Berwald was reading a book ( _The Wizard of Oz_ by L. Frank Baum), Eduard was polishing his musty spectacles, and Niels was quietly observing everybody around him. He had a hat in his lap. He and Tino caught eyes; the Finn began to raise an arm, a welcoming gesture, but Niels turned away before Tino got the chance.

"So,” Tino began, as he toyed with the fraying ends of his sleeves. Eduard looked up from an intense stare, tongue poking out, at his glasses and Niels shifted his head toward Tino. Berwald kept reading.

"Out of curiosity, why did you all leave your homes?" Tino asked. "I mean, you don't have to answer if it's too personal or forward but I'm rather curious because there has to be a reason. My mother and I agreed there'd be a more sustainable life in New York—jobs and condition wise—so that's why I'm here. If you… wanted to know." His voice trailed off near the end as the paper and worn pencil he'd under his bunk sprang into mind. It'd been four days and Tino hadn't even began writing a letter to his parents.

"My brother moved there a while ago with my father. I’m going to see them." That was Niels; his hand reached up to subconsciously brush fingers against a small cross nestled into his hair. The pin was surprisingly clean.

Berwald's eyes stayed on his book, but he had obviously stopped reading. "M'family's there, too. Was workin' back in Sweden, grew up there. Now'm goin' back."

"I'm afraid I'm a bit different than the other two," Eduard started, adjusting his glasses as he placed them back on his nose, finally satisfied with their state. "My father died when I was eleven, about six years ago. It affected my mother a lot. She stopped – doing much of anything, honestly, and caring for me was out of the picture – so I left." His expression hardened. "Hopefully for good."

Tino leaned out from underneath their bunk – Eduard was on the bed above him, Berwald on the bottom bunk of his and Niels' contraption—and gave the teenager a warm smile. “You’re only seventeen, Ed? Ed – can I call you that?”

Eduard shrugged. "I don’t mind. And yes, I’m seventeen but, with a lack of parents, have considered myself to be alone since my father died. I’m ready to work in America and be my own individual, without the burden of my mother.” His expression softened. “I think it’s my destiny. I would love to go to school, to study some sort of science, since I’m still sort of young, but I don’t have the means right now. I know I’ll get there eventually, though.”

Tino grinned at Eduard’s optimism and finally grabbed his musty bag from under him, dumbly searching until he found his paper and pencil against his fingers. When Berwald looked at him, Tino explained. "I told my mother I would write to her. I’m sure she's worried; I've been gone over two weeks, with traveling, and I haven't even written to her."

"How do you plan on sending it to her on the ship? Wait until we get to New York, then send it from there. She can wait another week," Niels said. "I haven't written to my father in years. It's all been through my brother. I haven't seen them since my brother was six."

"I just think my mother and I were closer than many—my father was, and still is, always working, not getting paid _nearly_ enough for what he’s doing... Anyways, what's your brother's name, Niels?"

Once again, Niels' hand moved to glide against the pin. "His name is Eirik. He's sixteen now—nine years younger than me. Before he moved, we were extremely close. It’s been ten years."

"He gave you that pin?" Berwald asked.

"Yes."

"Well, that was sure nice of him, because it's astounding. All the interlaced designs… is it a type of metal?" Eduard piped in, squinting at Niels' head.

"Gold."

That rendered everyone silent.

"Um, you said go—"

"Yes, I said gold. Probably worth money, but I'm not giving it up for fortune, because it's dear to me. My brother got it from a Danish banker, so it's fragile and I won't part from it just for money." Niels emphasized his point with a steady, unnerving stare at Eduard, who raised his hands in defense.

"Just saying, you could be up in the first class lounge instead of with us."

"I'd prefer to be with you than sell my pin."

There was perturbed silence from Niels' side and nervous chuckling from Eduard's side. Eduard started to polish his glasses—it seemed to be a nervous habit of his, either that or pushing them up the bridge of his nose—and Niels left the room for a walk on the deck ("I'm going for a walk. I'll return at some point."). Berwald continued reading and Tino finally began to write to his mother in scrawled Finnish. He’d send a very long letter once he got to New York.

 

_'April 14, 1912._

_Dear Mom,'_ it began.

_First of all, I'm sorry for not sending any earlier letters—it’s been a nuisance finding time to sit and pull out charcoal and just write! But I’m going to be sending all of these from New York, once we arrive, so you’ll get a sort of miniature journal from me._

_It's kind of late right now. My four roommates (all four men, as the single men and women are split up on either sides of the ship) and I were talking about why we're leaving our homes and what we're doing in America. This is the first time we've had time to talk in the time we've been aboard because we all usually just go to sleep in here and eat and hang around on the deck and go dancing. They all seem nice, though. There's Berwald, who doesn't talk much and is Swedish (but he's really not all that bad for a Swede), Eduard, a teenager from Estonia, and Niels, who's going to meet his younger brother and father in America from Norway._

_This whole trip is astounding. The ship is large, the people are… well, most of them are kind, the food is edible, and we even have our own pillows in our beds… also the rocking from the waves lulls me to sleep at night. Like how you used to do when I was a baby. I can’t see imagine being seasick, but all people are different. The water is very calm today, too!_

_Anyways, my hand is cramping now so I believe I'll try to wrap up this letter. It's late. I should probably try to go to sleep, too. I think Eduard is asleep above me, I hear snoring. I will write to you tomorrow, I promise; I’ll keep you updated on my Titanic adventures! Please tell Kukka-Muna hello for me and send me a picture of her!_

_Love, your s—'_

 

A sudden jerk in the calm rolls of the ocean Tino mentioned in his letter jerked his hand, sending a twist of gray charcoal twirling off from the beginning of the 'o'. It looked like an abstract 'u'. Tino frowned at the paper, then used his nail in an attempt to erase the spiral.

The small glass of water of above the sink continued quivering, and the Finn deserted erasing the obscurity and jumped out of bed to keep it from falling. Eduard stirred from his presumed sleep, and Berwald's eyes squinted behind _The Wizard of Oz_. Tino shoved the letter into the back pocket of his pants.

All three men were silent before Eduard, groggy, asked, “Could we have hit an animal?" as he put on his glasses. Nobody replied.

Berwald folded the corner of his page, settled the book onto his bed, and crawled from the shadowed underlay of Niels' bunk.

"'ll be back."

He walked out of the room without another word, back hunched and face buried into his giant overcoat.

Eduard and Tino sat in silence for a few moments. Tino drank the rest of the water in the glass and set the cup in the sink.

"Tino?"

"Yes, Ed?"

"What was that?"

"I'm not sure how to answer that without rambling." Tino swallowed, tongue darting out to wet suddenly dry lips. Perhaps they'd just run out of coal, or something of the sort. Did that happen? Could you just run out of coal in the middle of the ocean? Or maybe something in storage had gotten loose and jammed into a wall. They were just above storage, right?

"Well, what do you think we should do?" Eduard asked, hopping down from his bed.

"I think we should go and check it out. Or, no, we should stay here. Or, no, we should leave! But what if Berwald or Niels come back and wonder where we went? But what if they don't come back-"

Tino's rambling was cut off as the door flung open; he and Eduard both jumped, and Eduard shrieked a little. Niels was in the room quickly, hoisting himself up to his divan and rustling through the few bags he brought with him. He found a small picture: the blurred face of a pouting, extremely blond boy holding a tattered stuffed bird in chubby arms.

"We're leaving."

Tino's eyes moved to Niels', and Niels refused to meet his eyes.

"What happened? We were sitting when the room shuddered, and then Berwald left us," Eduard asked. He looked nervous.

"Grab items you consider valuable, dress warmly."

"Niels—"

"Do it, Eduard."

Niels' words were chipped, cold, and frightening, eyebrows narrowed and expression icy. Eduard nodded dully, glasses slipping down his nose again.

"Tino, you too."

Tino followed suit. He ripped open his belongings and tossed on a jacket, wool socks, and shoes with thin soles as Niels barked at Eduard again ("Don't just stand there. Your feet work properly, right?"). He had acquired a thick sweater since Tino looked moments earlier, and Eduard finally snapped out of his trance to collect his items.

"I don't really have any… um," Tino muttered, snatching up his pencil and pairing that with the paper in his pocket.

"The less the better," Niels responded. "You don't want to carry much." The picture he had was gone; Tino assumed it was in his pocket, too. "Eduard, hurry up."

Eduard was frantic with the impatient man watching him as he changed. His glasses went askew as he tugged on a frayed pullover; he already had shoes and spent the remaining minute aimlessly searching for a personal item. Tino had dazed off at this state, his mind swimming with thoughts.

 _‘Nothing’s wrong. It's not bad. This will take five minutes, and you'll be able to finish your letter to your mother and everything will go fine and you'll be in America in a few days.'_ These phrases played over and over in Tino’s head.

Next thing he knew, Niels was pulling his arm out the door, Eduard trailing behind closely. "Wait, what if Berwald comes back?" Tino called, sending one last glance at their room before turning left in the hallway.

Niels replied back in a foreign language Tino assumed to be Norwegian, which just caused further confusion and panic from Eduard. The Estonian was floundering with obvious anxiety.

They reached the deck in another fifteen minutes and the brisk wind hit Tino like a punching bag, breath puffing out like when he was kid. He was reminded of when he was younger, and he used to pretend to smoke a “wood” pipe, and the cold air would be “smoke.” Niels dragged them to the other side of the deck where chunks of ice lay strewn across the foredeck.

"You want to know what's happened. There's your first clue; if you're too dim to figure it out I’m sorry." Niels exhaled, striding to the side of the deck; the water was unusually calm. Tino followed, turned his head, and peered to the foam left behind from the ship's path. Sure enough, there was a large iceberg smiling menacingly at him. His heart leapt to his throat.

"It may not be bad though, right? It might not've hit anywhere deep. Maybe it was just a brushing. See," Tino gestured to the space around him. Little kids were playing football with the smaller chunks of ice, "all the kids playing? Their parents are letting them. They know it's alright."

"Better safe than sorry, Tino."

Tino nodded, agreeing with Niels. Eduard had sat down on the deck, knees curled up against his chest in an act of warmth. Tino scrunched next to him—the Finn was a bit rounder, with more body heat to share against the lanky teenager. It wasn't until he pulled himself closer that Tino realized Eduard wasn't as cold as he thought he was—it was nerves toying with his system, if Eduard's dazed stare and jagged breathing gave any signal.

Niels preferred to sit on a bench across from the two, ignoring them as he mumbled to himself in his own language.

"Hey, Eduard, it's fine. Like I said earlier, it probably didn't do any damage, just rubbed against the boat and scattered ice everywhere. The shudder was the ice falling, not it hitting the ship." Tino smiled as the kids kicked the ice his way—he punted it back to them. "It's fine."

"You don't know that."

"Optimism gets you places you won't believe, Ed."

Eduard merely nodded, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth. A few more people appeared on the deck and frowned. They left seconds after, preferring the warmth of their cabins.

Perks of being a Finn, Tino believed. It brought stability against the cold.

His gaze went to Niels, who had stopped muttering, but was instead fixated on the picture of the young boy cupped in his hand. Tino saw his Adam's apple bob, lips pursed tightly in an exemplary attempt to let no emotion through. A wave of pity swamped Tino as he remembered Niels hadn't seen his brother in ten years.

A lion of a man passed them and Tino barely had time to recognize the sandy blonde hair and wired glasses before Berwald sat next to Niels, whispering to the other under his breath. As he began, a deafening roar exploded in the air and Tino felt Eduard jump next to him. Tino's eyes grew with concern and he sent a look up to Berwald and Niels, blond eyebrows raised in worry.

Niels tried to speak, only realizing it was futile with all the extra noise, so he stood up. Berwald pursued and Tino next, pulling Eduard up with him.

Niels led them up a flight of stairs to a higher deck that Tino hadn't been on before. He maneuvered through whining (what he assumed to be) first-class passengers and crew members until Niels stopped abruptly in front of a few doors. He opened one of them, ushered the other three in, and closed it immediately.

The room was warmer than outside and even a bit quieter without all the screaming from whatever-the-hell was making the noise. The people around them stared blankly at them and inched away.

"What are we doing, what is happening, I'm so confused—" Eduard sighed, inhaling and exhaling in a futile attempt to calm himself. Tino massaged his shoulders before switching the conversation to Berwald.

"Where did you go?"

"T'check."

"To check what?"

"What's happenin'. S'not nothin'. I was ignored, but somethin's wrong."

"No shit something's wrong!" Eduard let out an exasperated sigh, drumming his fingers along the side of his thigh. Tino's eyebrows creased at the outburst, which attracted more attention to the obvious intruders among the wealth in the room. "We hit an iceberg, Berwald. Of course something's wrong."

Niels shook his head. "The noise, the ice—we've hit it, hard. The noise is probably the steamers from the boiler room. If we've created a hole in the ship, it will fill up the lower levels first, obviously. The boiler rooms aren't meant for water. If you have the hot coal mixed with water, you get steam, which is the noise that's so damned obnoxious.” Berwald simply nodded and shoved a tense hand into his pocket.

"So we're some of the first people that know, right?" Tino asked. "Most people probably just think it's a propeller or something and don't feel like getting out of bed and dressed and into the cold. If it is something bad, we'll just get ahead of everybody else and lifeboat ourselves away, right?"

"You use too many 'rights', 'probablys', and 'ifs', Tino," Niels commented, shaking his head. "We are third class passengers. We're not as important, rich, or educated as the first class men and women."

A flurry of footsteps and voices outside alerted the four men. They looked through the window and saw a flock of fancy, furred-up men and women wandering across the deck with lifejackets situated on their chest.

"It's just a pre—"

"You very know well it's not a precaution."

Tino knew Niels was right. He realized how different the two were; he used flawed optimism and Niels harsh but true, common sense.

Tino clicked the door open, tapped the first person he could find and asked, "Excuse me, ma'am, where did you get the lifejackets?" The woman gasped, slapped his hands off her shoulders, and stomped away from him, nose held high. He shook his head and stumbled to the left a bit.

Tino fell into place with the group of people, ignoring Eduard's shouts of, "Tino!" behind him. The wave of people eventually carried him into a dining hall.

Head down, shoving down newfound anxiety of the first-class, focused on the feet below him, Tino continued to follow for a solid ten minutes until the ground turned from carpet to a polished marble. He finally looked up.

There were at least forty people congregated at the Grand Staircase, and he was one of them. He stood out like a sore thumb—mangy pants, rugged shirt and jacket compared to extravagant hues of royal blue and silk slippers and fur collars.

"Nothing’s happening, it’s not going do—"

"-n't worry, Arthur—"

"—two hours tops—"

That's all he wanted to hear.

Tino turned on his heel and left in the direction he supposed was the one he came in. However, he realized he was completely wrong as he found only staircases. The air got colder and the steam louder.

"Shit," he hissed. Tino went down, headed toward war instead of peace. He squeezed past his own people—filthy and confused third classmen—down corridors and signs that took him moments to translate.

Then it was aimless wandering. Tino roamed the halls, thinking of how different his story may change in just a couple hours.

His foot 'plop'ed against the wet floor. His footsteps were getting heavier, bitter water pricking his soles and every step felt as if needles were jabbed into the tender skin. At that moment, the harsh reality of the situation hit Tino in one giant rush.

The ship was sinking.

He may not make it.

His heart rate rose as he ran through the halls, pushing past people with small apologies until he found a staircase leading up. Blind faith, Tino supposed.

Thankfully, the gates of these stairs were unlocked and easy to open. A blur of people ambled past his eyes when he made it to a deck, out of breath and bright red.

The cold air chilled the sweat brimming his forehead, danced across his fingers and licked at his wet shoes. There were many more people standing worriedly now, officers ushering people onto small lifeboats that were spread across the rim of the ship. Their noses were bright pink, like snowmen Tino used to make when he was a child.

First class women kissed their husbands and fiancés good-bye, fathers whispered comforting words to their children, young women held their babies close. A lifeboat set off with barely thirty people in it. Tino absorbed everything around him when a cluster of tall blond men encircled him.

Niels, Berwald, and Eduard were all frowning at him as if he was a naughty child who'd broken their parents' new lamp. "Stay with us," was all Niels said before strolling to another lifeboat. He and Berwald took the front and Eduard and Tino fell behind a bit, walking at a brisk pace to match the other's long strides.

"Why'd you leave?" Eduard asked.

"I needed to know what was happening. That didn't work," was the lame response.

"Obviously. Niels was calmly panicking, in his way."

"I can see that."

Said Norwegian was currently conversing with an officer; the officer was flushed, and not very good at hiding his emotions. Niels, on the other hand, was calmly asking if there were any lifeboats open to men or if they could hitch a ride on the one in front of them, which only had twelve people.

"Women and children first," the man replied, shaking his head and ushering a young women adorned with jewels and thick gloves to a seat. She didn't say thank you. "No men."

Niels nodded briskly, leaving the man with a quiet, "Thank you." He shook his head to the other three, gold locks fluttering with the motion. His pin was still just above his ear, quite content with its place.

"If we're not getting on a lifeboat, may as well help people who can."

Berwald agreed with a curt nod, Eduard diverted his eyes to his shoelaces (they were untied), and Tino nodded a great deal of times. If they wouldn't get off, they should help people get on. It'd only be the nicest thing to do.

"What if we disguised Ed as a woman?" Tino suddenly blurted out, immediately covering his mouth with his hands after he spoke. Nobody around him seemed to hear except the other three. Eduard's eyebrows had narrowed, glasses pushed up by his index finger.

"Excuse me?"

"Y-Yes, I—you're the youngest, Eduard. You're—you're seventeen! A great deal younger; you've barely lived your life; you're still young and can have a great life in America. Meet a bunch of new friends, a spouse, have kids and… and…" Tino trailed off, messing with the folded up paper in his pocket. "You deserve it."

Niels was staring blankly at Tino, eyes betraying no emotion, but he shrugged one shoulder.

Berwald grunted in agreement.

"B-But, guys! That's not fair, not at all! You all have just the same amount of rights to live as I do, just because I'm younger doesn't mean a thing right now. We're all equals; whether it be a child, father, teenager, or young adult. Age doesn't mean shit right now." Eduard shook his head. “I set sail to find a better life, not be eaten away by guilt!"

"Eduard—"

"Tino, I won't."

A loud churning noise came from somewhere in the depths of the ship. Children screamed. "You're sure?"

"Just because I'm young doesn't mean I'm weak."

Berwald was leaning against the side of a wall, picking a spec of dirt off the chest of his coat. "S'got a point." Tino sighed and ran a hand through his hair, chewing on his lip. Niels had gone off to his own land, fixated on the first lifeboat easing its way away from Hell.

"We need to help people." When Niels spoke, it was reserved. "To the corridors. Further down. There could be people trapped and we could help them."

Tino, despite his sinking stomach and trembling legs, piped in. "We could do that, maybe. Maybe we could help—"

"We _will_ help them," Niels chastised. And for the first time since Tino had met Niels, a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips. He was teasing. "Don't be so negative, Tino." Tino only grinned in response.

They were off. Yes, they were young and poor. But they were also determined and courageous. Their soggy footsteps echoed as they entered the barren halls leading down to the D and E decks. By the time the blonds reached halls and halls of open doors, the water was up to Tino's calves. His toes were, once again, numb. Eduard entered the water (although it only came up to his ankle) with a curse.

The four splashed through frigid water in an attempt to find lost souls.

They were on their third hallway when a high pitched wail was heard over the roar of the steam and rushing water. Niels' ears perked at the noise, raising a finger in silence to quiet the other three although none of them were talking. He listened for a moment more and burst off in the opposite direction of the group. He threw open a door and there sat a young girl, eyes wide at the water surrounding the corners of the room. Niels' jumped over to her and scooped up the girl in his arms. She reminded Tino of a siren.

Berwald went into the room and held his arms open for her. Surprisingly, the girl complied and spread her arms for Berwald to hold her. Niels frowned, eyebrows creased, but handed her over. The Swede pet her hair soothingly, rocking her in his arms. Tino and Eduard watched from the hall, trifling smiles of adoration sweeping their faces. Berwald and Niels talked under their breaths for a moment, hushed whispers, and Berwald left the room, forcing himself up the opposite side of the hallway.

Niels approached them. "We're leaving." He squeezed slender hips in between the two of them and the younger men followed like ducklings.

"Um, what about Berwald?" Eduard asked, shooting a glance over his shoulder. Berwald was gone.

"He's taking the child to the boats."

"Will he find us again?"

"Probably."

It was amazing how well Niels knew the twists and turns of the maze of lower decks that would've taken Tino at least twenty minutes, which he couldn't spare, to navigate. Niels had shaved ten minutes off and had them up the deck and out of the water in almost no time. All around them, people were sending farewells to their loved ones. Lingering kisses fall on cold lips.

Terror was painted on everybody's faces—contorted into masks of pain and sadness and nostalgia. Music played a jaunty tune somewhere in the background. Tino liked it.

They rounded a corner just to see a tall man in a debate with one of the officers. Berwald still had the young girl in his arms, her bare feet and hands nestled into his coat. He was talking with the crew member, shaking his head at something the other was saying. Berwald was directed harshly onto a boat, his eyebrows furrowed as he continued shaking his head. Niels took a step closer and heard Berwald retort, "'m not the girl's Pa, just found'er down b'low," but the officer wasn't taking any of it.

"'m an unmarried, twenty-one year old, she's not m'daughter, sir," Berwald tried once more, but it was useless.

"Don't be modest. Take her and get in the boat."

The lifeboat groaned when Berwald mounted; it looked like a tub under his impressive bulk. The officer called to lower the boat quickly, whistle tweeting under the raucous around him.

Berwald locked eyes with Niels, who gave a small salute. The Swede nodded back. When Berwald wasn't watching, Niels turned his back to him and whispered a good-bye under his breath.

Eduard couldn't even raise an arm to wave.

When Berwald met Tino's eyes, Tino mouthed a good-bye in Swedish to him. It took a moment to register in Berwald's mind what language Tino had used, but he nodded. 'Thank you,' he mouthed back. Tino smiled despite the feeling of despair churning his gut. A rocket flashed and exploded in the skies, and down chugged Berwald's lifeboat.

***

The ship was listing. Slowly but surely, it was going down.

The three men found a bench to sit on. Crying surrounded them. Prayers were spoken in various languages. A couple—no, siblings, judging by the similar contours of the faces and dirty blonde hair—stopped right in front of Tino. The girl, no older than fifteen, maybe, refused to leave her brother, but he wasn't hearing it. They hugged, a tender, loving gesture, and the girl was ushered to a boat.

Tino stopped watching.

Eduard's legs were up to his chest again, curled into his own ball of comfort.

Niels had his picture out again. A long finger ran over the broken edge of a corner, then to his pin. He looked serene, like a statue unable to move. Tino realized Niels was terrified. He'd kept the cool, calm exterior as a brotherly instinct—sure, he wasn't a brother, but as the oldest of the four he believed it was his duty to protect. When Niels had accepted that he wasn't going to see Eirik, he'd adopted Tino and Berwald and Eduard in his mind. They weren't a replacement, but the closest Niels would get to holding his brother or bossing him around. That was Niels' thought process all along, whether it was conscious or not.

Tino set a hand on Niels' shoulder, startling the man in an uncharacteristic manner.

"I'm sorry, I'm just—thank you, Niels." 

"For what?"

"Everything."

The people around them were slowly disappearing. The boats around them were mostly gone and the passengers were either wallowing in self-pity, praying silent, or drinking themselves into a stupor. Many of the officers had left. Eduard, Tino, and Niels followed a few wanderers up to the stern of the ship; the list became slightly harder to move against and the three used bolted tables and benches as handholds.

It seemed the majority of the people had congregated there, conjoined in prayer or tearful, slurred songs about God saving them. Eduard mumbled about how he didn't believe God was going to be doing much help.

Tino honestly didn't care.

If praying calmed them, let them do so.

Tino ignored the mess around him and found himself a crook of the stern to bury himself into. Niels and Eduard followed him and plopped down on either side of him. His pencil, still jammed into his back pocket, poked him and Tino snatched it along with his paper.

 

_'Mom and Dad-'_

Tino didn't want to frighten his parents.

_'Thank you._

_I mean for my entire life. From the earliest moment I can remember-a snowball fight with you!-to the stairs of this adventure. Birthdays, Midsummer; we didn't have the perfect conditions but we were most certainly a perfect family._

_And all I can do is thank you both._

_Love, Tino. '_

 

He held the letter in quivering hands. From the mix of trembling, darkness, and horrible penmanship Tino hoped his parents would be able to understand what he was trying to say. A girl was crouched in front of him, leaning against the butt of a table. She had many jewels and a laced transparent skirt on. Tino sent one more hopeful glance at his letter to his parents and regarded the young woman with large, violet eyes.

"If opportunity doesn't knock on the door, build a door," he whispered to himself and held out the paper to her with a shaky hand. "When you get off the ship, ma'am, could you please send this?" He inscribed his address to the front of the page and gave it to her.

She wrapped her palm around it and stored it in her over coat's pocket, her breath leaking out jaggedly against the sharp cold.

"Thank you."

 She left after that.

Tino nestled himself between Eduard and Niels. Eduard had taken off his glasses and began cleaning them profusely with the edge of his sleeve. Niels' head was lolled back against the edge of the ship, fixated on the stars above him. There was no moon. In the background, Tino heard a distinct French tune that he couldn't place at the time. The world around him was crying, the boat was retching and screaming and the sea was swallowing up the opposite end of the ship with such force that the boat's lights flickered on and off.

On and off.

Off.

Tino fell asleep to weeping, bellowing, and horror. The noise was surrounding him was negative. He allowed his mind wander to positive thoughts—playing with his dog in the warm spring weather; his twentieth birthday, joined by his whole family; buying a ticket to board the RMS _Titanic_.

The waves lulled him to sleep.

Tino slept, and did not wake.

 ***

Elizaveta Héderváry was bundled underneath a thick blanket on the RMS _Carpathia_. Her thick brown hair was plastered to her forehead and neck in the moist smog, a very vivid contrast to her pastel skin and emerald eyes. She had no feeling in her toes and her lips were still colorless from the night's disaster.

Hell. It was Hell.

She'd somehow made it to a lifeboat just before it set off—collapsible D, the last one to be sent off. Her savior, in a way.

Not that it was God's help in any way.

She picked herself up from the miserable front deck and threw herself onto the last boat just as she got the chance. All the praying people and crying passengers wouldn't live. She'd received the letter from the young blonde man—somebody she knew was doomed, as he was obviously third class, and a male at that—and felt a sense of duty to give the letter its destiny. His eyes were wide, damp, and trusting, and Elizaveta believed him.

So she marched her ass over to the boat and was lowered off the 'unsinkable' ship.

She'd watched people fall to their deaths and cry in terror.

She'd heard the screams.

The young blonde man and his two friends stood no chance even if they'd woken up after she did. The ship went down about half an hour after she'd left, and only a few were pulled from the water.

Elizaveta stood, reached into her pocket, and pulled out the worn letter he'd given to her last night. The mail post was open. She copied the address in loopy cursive onto the envelope and added two sentences of her own under the flap.

 

_He's a polite kid. Congratulations._

_-EH_

 ***

**EPILOGUE.**

"We've been able to retrieve some of the bodies from the water." The man speaking had a long face, pink cheeks, and hat covering what was probably a bald spot on his head. "Set them out for claiming. If you recognize anybody, tell us and we'll add 'em to the list."

The teenager nodded briskly. His white-blond hair was plastered to his forehead and jaw, deep violet eyes roughened like a stormy ocean.

Eirik wasn't stupid.

Judging by his tattered clothes and lack of umbrella or hat, the director had assumed he would know somebody from the sinking. But Eirik wasn't ready for the man to be correct yet.

Layers of frostbitten, marble-esque corpses lay strewn in front of him. Eirik paced down the rows, arms hanging limply at his sides as he walked. His father would have scolded him if he were here. Eirik didn't think it was important.

There weren’t many bodies, and about half of them were almost completely undiscernible, waterlogged and disfigured. The few that he could identify seemed to be men, and some didn’t look much older than him.

As he neared the end of the line, a small bout of hope swelled in Eirik's stomach. He hadn't seen Niels yet—maybe he had arrived in New York. He got lost, trying to find their house, and it had taken a few days, but he’d gotten there just as Eirik had left. His father would come to pick him up, and Niels would place a hand on his shoulder and they would finally see each other.

This was the last time Eirik had gotten his hopes up.

Eirik had gotten to end. It seemed as if God taunted him, by placing his brother's body last in the row. To build up his hope, only to crush it by the end. Niels' eyes were still open, royal blue and glazed over, looking to the dark sky above him. His skin was sinewy and even paler than usual, lips parted ever so slightly. Gold, silk hair adorned icy chimes, light curls splayed out onto the ground below him. He was beautiful, even after a rough death, body floating helplessly for days in the ocean.

Eirik’s heart seemed to drop to his stomach as he noticed a gleam just above Niels' left ear; the teenager kneeled close to his brother and brushed his finger against the gold cross. Contours and crevasses intertwined and was cold to the touch.

Eirik couldn't believe Niels actually kept the pin. He'd sent it around four year ago through the mail and thought it was too feminine for his brother. Apparently not; it was lustrous even after settling in the freezing water.

The young boy almost unclipped it but stopped himself halfway. "It looks better on you, Niels," he decided and let it be.

Eirik came across a mushy, chipped corner of a picture jammed into Niels' pocket. He furrowed his brows and tentatively worked his way to investigate further. It took a good five minutes before Eirik truly realized what it was.

A young, chubby-faced child stared back up at him, hair rustled and pieces sticking up all over the places.

His younger self was pouting to the camera.

Eirik didn't care about the people around him. He choked back a sob and sat in front of Niels, legs crossed and tears plopping onto the picture below him. He locked hands with his brother and the gates broke. The tears came freely.

They had a profound bond and never were able to reunite.

He stayed with his brother for an hour.

He had nothing else to lose.


End file.
